


The Marshal and His Lady

by Carawyn



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-03-26 14:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13859478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carawyn/pseuds/Carawyn
Summary: A story of Eomund, Third Marshal of the Mark, and his wife, Theodwyn.  A day of family time is interrupted when a messenger arrives in Aldburg with new of orcs crossing the land.





	1. Chapter 1

November 12, 3002

Théodwyn was helping to prepare the hall for the midday meal, and so was carrying a stack of plates in one arm when Éomund came up behind her and pulled her into his arms. She gave a small squeak of surprise but then laughed, slapping playfully at his arms with her free hand. “Leave me be, you great lout. I’ve work to do.”

Even as she scolded she leaned back into his embrace, and he laughed before leaning over her shoulder to kiss her cheek loudly. “There’s a fine greeting for your lord and husband!”

She smiled fondly at him over her shoulder, and lifted her hand to cup his cheek before kissing him firmly but quickly. “My lord and husband you may be, but if you make me drop these plates do not think I will not send you to the kitchen to scrub them, as I would your children.”

Éomund glanced over to where their children sat at a small table in a corner of the main hall, finishing their lessons for the morning.

Éowyn was watching them, but looked away quickly and giggled when she caught her father's eye.

Éomer was also watching, but the expression on his face made it clear he wished the floor would simply open beneath him so he could escape. Éomund sent him a wink and chuckled before he gave his wife another noisy kiss on the cheek and released her. He strode over to his son and ruffled his hair. “Someday, my boy…”

After she put the plates on the table Théodwyn looked over to her family, and smiled fondly, “Go ahead and wash your hands now. We’re almost ready.”

Éomund smiled back at her, then nodded.

Éowyn dashed over to the pitcher and basin kept near the front doors with all the energy of a seven year old while Éomer walked over more slowly, his father's hand on his shoulder. Servants carried in a tureen of stew and fresh loaves of bread. By the time everything was in place the family was ready, and the members of the household were gathering as well.

The marshal and his family were given the honor of being served first, and soon they were all settled on benches. Théodwyn broke one of the loaves and handed half to her husband, then laughed as she saw that Éomer was already wolfing down his stew as quickly as he could chew. She looked at her husband across the table, and he simply grinned and gave a small shrug with one shoulder.

Éowyn asked a question about the history lesson she had just concluded, and Théodwyn answered as she started to eat, with Éomund adding his own insights from time to time. Soon Éomer had slowed his eating enough to become interested in the conversation, and he joined in as well, between mouthfuls.

They had been seated for about half an hour when there was a commotion at the doors to the hall. All eyes in the hall turned that direction, and it was only a moment before a young man was allowed to enter. From his disheveled appearance it was clear that he had ridden hard and fast.

“Marshal Éomund!”

Éomund was already on his feet, and nodded his head towards a corner of the hall that was a little removed from his family. The messenger met him there, and for some moments the men stood in quiet conversation, the sound of their voices carrying to Théodwyn from time to time but not their words.

At last Éomund clapped his hand to the younger man’s shoulder, then waved towards the table where the food was still laid out. The rider moved eagerly to fill a bowl as Éomund returned to his family.

Though she had tried to hide her concern, and to keep up the conversation with her children, Théodwyn’s expression had grown tense as she waited for Éomund to return to the table. His expression remained neutral as he approached, but there was a fire burning in his eyes, one that she knew all too well. She knew he would be riding out, and soon. 

Standing, she put her hand on her husband’s arm to lead him back into the corner where he had spoken to the messenger.

He gave a small nod as he looked at her, answering her unasked question and confirming her fears. “Orcs have been spotted, fleeing toward the north east. Just a small band, it seems, easy to catch, but I cannot allow them to run free through the Eastfold.”

Her voice was low, so only he could hear her. “Éomund… Must you go?”

“Of course I do. I have an obligation, to the king and to the people. “

“I know, love, but…” She paused, and put her other hand on his other arm. “I fear… something terrible will happen. To you. I feel it…”

Éomund pulled her close and kissed her forehead, then lifted her chin with one finger so he could look in her eyes. “I will be fine, my heart.”

Théodwyn tightened her grip on his arms, but her voice was still low enough that only he would hear her words. “Éomund… I know of your duty, and have ever supported you in it. But this once, this one time, please, do not go. Send your men to protect the people, but let Bernulf lead them…”

He gave a small shake of his head. “What reason could I give to not ride with the men, Théodwyn? They can see that I am not ill… nor you, or the children.”

She looked down for a moment and was silent as she thought.

When looked up at him again her eyes were pleading. “Is there not a rider whose leadership you need to have evaluated? Could Bernulf not ride as your eyes and report back to you?”

But even as she spoke she knew it was futile to try to keep him from riding. The fire was still in his eyes, and she knew that he would never consent to sitting in the hall, idle, while his men rode to battle. He stood before her, but she knew a part of his mind was already making plans and weighing options for how to ensure victory.

Once more he shook his head gently, but his voice was firm. “I must go, Théodwyn. You know this.”

For a long moment she simply stood there, her hands still clutching his arms, but then at last she gave a deep sigh, and nodded. “Aye, I know it well, Éomund.” She gave a weak attempt at a smile. “You would not be the man that I love if you did not take your duties to heart, But… promise me that you will exercise caution? I have heard stories of how rash you can be when fighting, especially when fighting those creatures.”

He laughed softly, and lowered his forehead to rest on hers. “The Riders gossip more than the old hens at their sewing.” He lifted his head, and again tipped her face up so he could look in her eyes. “I will do what I must to protect our people, and my family. But I give you my word that I will do all in my power to return to you, my love.” He kissed her gently, “My lady.” Another kiss. “My wife.”

Théodwyn released one hand from his arm, and used it to pull his head down for a kiss that was fierce, and bordered on desperation. Many of the Riders that were gathering by the doors were grinning widely by the time she released him.

A quick glance and a raised brow from the marshal sent the watching men hurrying out the door into the cool autumn air.

Éomund looked at his wife once more, and kissed her quickly on the cheek. “I must prepare. Every minute we delay lets them get further away.”

She nodded and tried again to smile. “I will have the cup ready for you.”

Éomund turned, and strode from the hall towards their quarters.

Glancing towards the door to the kitchens, Théodwyn saw that Ingvild had already brought the richly carved cup and a skin of wine and left them on the serving table. She looked at them for a long moment before returning to the table where her children sat watching. She sat in her place again, and before she was even fully settled Éomer was asking her “The men are going to ride, aren’t they. After orcs? Where are they going?”

Théodwyn looked across the table at him, and was shocked to see the fire that she had just seen burning in Éomund’s eyes was also in those of his eleven year old son. She took a quick breath as a new fear gripped her heart.

Éomer seemed to realize that he had been overly eager and fell silent.

Reaching out to put her arm around Éowyn, Théodwyn nodded. “Yes, they are riding as quickly as they can be ready.” She sighed. “Orcs have been sighted in the Eastfold, and your father has to protect our people.”

Éowyn looked at her mother with wide eyes, as if she sensed some of her mother’s fear. “But Papa will return, won’t he? He always says that orcs are little more than animals, and present less challenge than a boar...”

Éomer scoffed before his mother could form an answer. “Of course he will! No orcs could even come close to hitting him. Not Father. He will destroy them all and be home singing the songs of victory before you know it.”

Éowyn’s concern turned into a grin at Éomer ’s enthusiastic reply, and even Théodwyn smiled through her fears as she replied, “Bema grant that be true.”

Rising again, she continued speaking to her son. “Why don’t you go see if you can help your father with his preparations, Éomer.”

Éomer stood quickly with a muttered “Yes, Mother.” He strode to the door separating the hall from the family quarters eagerly, and Théodwyn was again startled to realise how much he looked like Éomund as he walked away.

Giving Éowyn’s shoulders a light squeeze she asked, “Éowyn, will you come and help me prepare the farewell cup for your father?”

Éowyn looked up at her mother again, her eyes wide once more as she nodded. “Yes, Mama.”

It was the first time she had been invited to help with the ceremony. When they reached the serving table she stood by her mother’s side solemnly as she watched everything that was done, and at her mother’s urging she carefully echoed the traditional blessings spoken as the wine was poured into the cup.

They had barely finished when Éomund returned to the hall, with Éomer following him and carrying his bedroll proudly. Bernulf, as Éomund’s second, joined them as they crossed to Théodwyn and Éowyn .

Théodwyn turned when she heard their footsteps and smiled warmly at her husband as he approached. She lifted the cup with both hands when he stood before her, and smiled as she held it out to him.

“Fare you well, Éomund.” she said. “Receive now this cup and drink in happy hour. Health be with thee at thy going and coming!” 1

Éomund took the cup from her and drank deeply before returning it to her hands. When he started to step back, Théodwyn gave a very small shake of her head and he stopped.  
Crouching down, Théodwyn carefully passed the lightened cup to her daughter, and gave her a few words of whispered instruction. The girl nodded, then stepped forward and offered the cup and blessing to Éomund again.

Éomund’s face remained solemn, but Théodwyn saw that the wrinkles around his eyes deepened slightly, as they would when he smiled.

He took the cup a second time, and drank again before passing it back to his daughter with a smile and a small nod. Éowyn smiled back proudly, then let her mother take the cup in order to offer it to Bernulf as well.

Théodwyn drained the cup to complete the ceremony, and then placed it back on the table. After nodding respectfully to her, Bernulf stepped away and exited the hall to ensure that the riders were prepared.

Giving his wife a reassuring smile, Éomund bent down enough to pick up Éowyn in one arm. He gave a loud groan as he stood. “My little girl is not so little anymore! I may not be able to carry you this way much longer, Éowyn.” 

Putting her arm around his neck, Éowyn held on to her father tightly. “Then will I be big enough to learn how to use a sword?”

Éomund’s laugh carried through the hall, but Théodwyn still heard Éomer’s quiet scoff before her husband spoke again. “Well, let me see. You are seven now, are you not?”

Éowyn nodded vigorously.

“I seem to recall that Éomer started learning the sword when he was seven. Maybe in the Spring…”

“But, Papa, that’s months away!”

He chuckled. “It is too cold for you to spend much time outside, Éowyn, and you know your mother’s rule about playing with swords in the hall.” He gave a sidelong look at Éomer as he spoke, and grinned when the boy’s cheeks flushed.

Éowyn sighed, but then nodded. “Yes, Papa.”

Giving his daughter a wink, Éomund put his other arm around Théodwyn’s waist. Together they followed Bernulf towards the doors, Éomer falling into step at his father’s side. The family often walked together in this way when Éomund was to leave, and Théodwyn took great comfort in the routine.

Once they were through the doors and standing on the covered porch that separated the hall from the yard before it Éomund set Éowyn on her feet and crouched before her. “I know I do not have to tell you to be good for your Mama, and to help her all you can while I am away, Éowyn.” When she nodded he kissed her brow lightly. “I love you, my little shieldmaiden.”

Éowyn giggled, as she always did when he addressed her this way, but threw her arms around him, “I love you, too, Papa.”

He engulfed her in his arms for a moment, then released her with a wide smile and stood. Turning to face Éomer he put both hands on the boy’s shoulders. “I leave you as the head of the family, my son, but you know to listen to your mother and do as she asks you.”

Éomer nodded gravely. “Yes, sir.”

Éomund grinned, and moved one hand to ruffle Éomer’s hair affectionately before pulling him into an embrace. “I love you, Éomer. And I’m proud of you.”

When he released Éomer the boy was red faced, but though he ducked his head and made a show of smoothing his hair he couldn’t completely hide his pleased grin.

Finally Éomund turned to Théodwyn, and for a long moment they simply looked at one another. Then Théodwyn stepped to him and wrapped her arms around him, hiding her face in the curve of his neck. He pulled her still closer and rested his cheek against her hair for the passing of several heartbeats.

Finally he brought his lips to her ear and whispered a few words to her. She replied with a weak laugh, then pulled away and smiled up at him warmly as she cupped his face with both her hands.

“Remember your promise, Éomund. Return to me.”

He smiled, and lowered his head to kiss her. “I will, Théodwyn.”

For another moment they stood there unmoving, but then he dropped his arms and she her hands, and he turned to walk off the porch, whistling to call his men to order.

A few moments later they rode out from the yard, twelve men altogether, and once beyond the gates in the sheltering walls they urged their horses into a gallop and were quickly gone from sight.

 

1 - This is, of course, quoted directly from The Two Towers, Chapter 6, “The King of the Golden Hall.”


	2. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Eomund's hot-headed ride into the Emyn Muil in pursuit of orcs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The chapter contains character death by what could be called assisted suicide.

November 19, 3002

For six days there was no word of the riders.

Théodwyn did her best to keep busy, doing anything that she could think of to occupy her time so that her fears did not overcome her. She spent extra time with her children, overseeing their lessons during the day, and sitting with them by the warm fire that was kindled in the hearth during the long, dark evenings, telling them stories while she sewed.

When the walls of the hall started to close in around her she would don her warmest clothing and spend time in her garden, though there was little to do so late in the autumn.

On the morning of the seventh day since Éomund had left she was adding yet more leaves and straw around the roots of a favorite rose bush when she heard the sound she had been waiting for; the distant call of a horn indicating the riders' return. That call was immediately followed by the cadence that indicated there were wounded who would need immediate care, sending her rushing to the walkway over the gates to join the guards there as they looked out over the plains, watching as the men approached.

There were seven horses moving at a slow canter, but she could see only four men, and one of those was being supported by another of the riders. It was not long before the riders were close enough that she saw the man being supported wore a helm crested with a white horsetail. Her knees started to buckle, but she gripped the top of the wall and forced herself to remain upright.

After a moment, when she had steeled herself enough to walk, she rushed back down into the yard, moving purposefully into the hall. Once inside she issued commands calmly, sending some servants to the kitchen to bring water to a boil, others to fetch the healers, and still others to ensure that beds were prepared in the healing ward.

Only after these instructions had been given did she look at the table where her children sat at their lessons. Both were looking back at her expectantly. To give herself time to think she stopped to remove her cloak, and only then did she approach them. After draping the cloak over the bench she sat next to Éowyn, putting one arm around the girl while reaching out with her free hand to cover Éomer's as it sat on the table.

"The men are returning. But…" She paused a took a breath before saying it out loud. "Your father is injured."

Both children started to ask questions, but she shook her head. "I don't know any more, or how badly he is hurt. The healers have been sent for, and should arrive before they bring him here, and they will see to him right away." She tightened her grip on Éomer's hand as she continued. "I need you to stay here, no matter what you hear, and do not go asking the riders for information. Watch your sister and keep her with you, and I promise I will come and let you know of his condition as soon as I am able."

Éomer nodded and murmured "Yes, Mother."

She gave him a small smile, then looked to her daughter. "Stay here with your brother, little one, and listen to what he tells you." Éowyn nodded silently, but Théodwyn could see that the girl was scared. She gave the girl's shoulders a little squeeze before she stood. "I will return when I know more."

Forcing herself to maintain a calm demeanor, Théodwyn picked up her cloak and walked towards the hallway leading to the quarters she shared with Éomund. She closed the door to their chambers carefully behind her and bolted it firmly before dropping the cloak and any pretense of calm.

She leaned back against the door and covered her face with her hands. A single sob escaped her as she slid down the wood until she sat on the floor with her knees pulled up before her. She drew in gulping breaths, but no tears came.

After a few moments her breathing calmed, and she dropped her forehead to her knees as she struggled to regain her strength and composure, as she knew that both would be required if her husband was wounded seriously enough to need, and to allow, another to help him stay on his horse.

A few moments later she took a final deep breath and then pushed herself up to stand. After straightening her dress and checking to ensure that her braids will still firmly secured about her head she unbolted the door, and stepped into the hallway once more, to all appearances completely calm and controlled.

She walked through the hallways to the healing ward quickly and was pleased to see that Hrodwyn, Aldburg's chief healer, had already arrived and was pulling out bandages and herbs that she thought might be useful so that they were ready to hand when the marshal was brought in. Her assistants were also busy with preparations, since it wasn't clear if the other men who were returning might need care as well.

Théodwyn had arrived only moments before the men appeared, with Éomund being supported, almost carried, by Bernulf. Running her eyes over him quickly she was relieved to see that while he was very pale there was little blood on his clothing, save at his right shoulder.

But then why had he needed to be supported to stay in his saddle? Why was he not able to walk unaided if it was his arm that was wounded?

Bernulf started speaking as soon as he saw the healer. "Poisoned blade, had to have been. There's a wound on his shoulder there, just a cut or so we thought. We cleaned and bandaged it in the field, and he never complained of it hurting him until the next day." Éomund gave a soft moan as he was lowered onto the clean white sheet of the bed, and Bernulf paused in his tale for a moment as he settled his friend carefully. "He was running a fever by that nightfall, and nothing we've tried since has broken it."

Hrodwyn cut the marshal's shirt away while Bernulf spoke, and then started to unwind the bandage from Éomund's left arm. "How long ago was this?"

"We caught up with the vermin on the afternoon of the second day after we rode out, and chased them into the Emyn Muil just after dusk. The marshal refused to listen to reason and let them go, but followed them into the rocks at dawn. They ambushed us, and only the four of us made it back out. I had to drag the marshal away. Even wounded he did not wish to leave any of them alive after they attacked us in such a cowardly way. But we were outnumbered and they had the better position..."

He stopped speaking as the wound was uncovered, and took a small step back. Théodwyn gasped when she saw it. The cut was indeed shallow, but the edges of the wound and skin around it were black, and it was crusted with infection. Veins and arteries stood out against pale skin as a web of angry red and purple that spread across Éomund's shoulder and arm, and the skin of his chest and abdomen was mottled with red spots. He shook as if severely chilled despite Bernulf's statement that he had a fever.

The smell made one of the younger assistants gag and take several steps away from the bed. Even Hrodwyn's experienced hands stilled for an instant before she reached for a bowl of hot water that had already been brought to her. Dipping a clean rag in the water she started to clean the wound as gently as she could, dabbing the hot water on and allowing it to soften the crusts and scabs that had formed before she tried to clean them away.

While her hands were gentle, her voice was not. "Are any of you hurt?" She looked up at Bernulf as she paused again to let the warm water soak into the wound, then turned her sharp glance on the two other riders in turn. "Be honest! You can see what happens if you downplay a wound."

Bernulf and one of the other men shook their heads, but the youngest lifted a bandaged hand. "It's nothing like that, mistress. Honest!"

After barking an order to one of her assistants to see to the other man, Hrodwyn returned to cleaning and examining Éomund's wound.

Coming forward, Théodwyn knelt on the other side of the bed and took Éomund's left hand with both of her own. His skin was hot and feverish to her touch despite the way he shook, and his breathing was both shallow and rapid, all of which seemed to confirm Bernulf's assumption of poison. And it had been four days since the wound was inflicted!

She reached out and cupped her other hand to his cheek, feeling it hot and dry beneath her fingers. "Éomund... I am here, my love."

Slowly his head turned toward her, and his eyes opened a little. The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he tried to smile at her. "Théodwyn…"

"Hush, husband, save your strength." Her fingers eased his hair back from his brow as she smiled at him. " You are home now, and Hrodwyn is caring for you. Rest now, my dearest, so you can recover quickly."

He shook his head, the movement nearly indistinguishable from the shaking caused by the poison. "No… love. It is too late for healing now…" He paused and took several shallow breaths before he could continue. "Had to keep my word… return to you."

Théodwyn gave a sobbing laugh and pressed a hard kiss to the hand that she held before smiling at him. "Aye, you returned to me, as you promised. Now be still, husband, and let Hrodwyn work."

Éomund's eyes drifted closed again, and he groaned from time to time, turning his head a little on the pillow as Hrodwyn cleaned the wound. As his shaking grew worse, Théodwyn glanced across the bed to the healer.."Should we not cover him with blankets against the fever? He shakes so hard…"

The healer did not look up from the wound. "If you wish it, my lady. It cannot hurt him." She sighed deeply and then sat back on her heels, looking across the bed steadily at her lady. "But I do not think it will help him, either."

Théodwyn shook her head in almost violent denial and locked eyes with the healer. "You can not know that. You have not even tried anything! If the fever can be broken… If he did not have to spend so much of his strength by shaking so hard…" She looked down at her husband again, freeing one hand from his to brush his hair back from his forehead.

When the healer didn't answer or move she snapped to the room in general, "Get me blankets!"

Bernulf himself grabbed a pile of blankets and carefully spread them over his commander and friend. Théodwyn thanked him absently as she tugged the blankets a little higher, to cover all that she could of Éomund's shoulders.

Hrodwyn simply watched for a moment, then sighed deeply. Her voice as low, and full of both understanding and sympathy. "My lady…"

"No! I will not believe that there is nothing to be done." I know that you keep herbs and potions that can counter the poison. You have treated such poisoned wounds before and the patient recovered..."

The healer answered gently. "Aye, I have, but herbs would not take effect in time, my lady." She indicated the network of veins spreading out from the wound. "The poison and infection have entered his blood, and have by now spread through his whole body. He would not be able to digest or absorb any fluids or medicines I gave him.

"He is dying, my lady."

Théodwyn shook her head again. "No. That cannot be." Another sob escaped her as she brushed her hand across Éomund's brow once more. "There must be something you can do…"

It was Éomund who answered, his eyes still closed, and his voice barely audible. "She is right… my love. Leave her… be."

She pressed the back of his hand to her cheek with both her hands as she shook her head again. "Éomund… I cannot lose you…"

The room fell quiet, the only sound being that of Éomund's labored breathing. Finally, he opened his eyes again, and with difficulty found Bernulf.

"Bernulf… my friend… release me." A spasm racked his body, and his eyes closed again as his face contorted in pain.

Bernulf nodded gravely, and reached for the long dagger hung at his belt.

Théodwyn released Éomund's hand and threw her arm across his chest. "NO!" She looked at her husband and tears welled in her eyes at last. "No, Éomund! Do not give up, not yet. Please! We haven't yet tried everything we can, and the herbs might…" Her voice broke, and she had to swallow before continuing. "Maybe…"

His eyes never left hers as he shook his head again, brushing the backs of his fingers across her cheek. "Théodwyn… I am dying, love. Do not…" He paused to take a few breaths, his eyes drifting shut as if the effort to hold them open was too great. "I do not want to linger… helpless... Let him…"

Bernulf spoke softly from the foot of the bed. "My lady, it is his right as a rider to ask for a clean death. Would you deny him this?"

When Théodwyn gave no answer he continued more firmly. "He is in pain, and the healer has examined him and said there is no hope of recovery. There are more than enough present here to give witness to his request. How can you ask him to continue to suffer needlessly?"

She looked at her husband for a long moment, and tears started to slide down her cheeks when his body twisted with another spasm and he groaned with the pain of it. Only then did she give a small nod.

A moment passed in silence, but then Bernulf spoke again, his voice soft and respectful. "Forgive me, my lady, but should you not send for Éomer? As his father's heir…"

Theodwyn cut him off sharply, her tone fierce. "Éomer is not old enough to stand as a witness." Shaking her head firmly she looked up at Bernulf as he stood over the bed. "No, I will not have him here."

Bernulf gave a small bow, "He is not old enough to be a witness lady, you are right. But he is old enough to understand his father's choice, and as a rider he will see death..."

"He is not a rider! He will not be a rider for years yet! Do not…" She stopped for a moment before continuing, and she looked again at Éomund. "If he is here, if he sees this, he will no longer be a boy…" Her voice became a plea. "Do not take my boy from me as well as my husband..."

A heavy silence fell over the room, and once more it was Éomund who broke it in a strained voice. "Fetch him, Bernulf."

When Théodwyn started to object again Éomund tightened his grip on her hand, "He must see death sometime, Théodwyn. Let him see mine… Let him know that it is not to be feared… That I died well…"

Théodwyn gave no answer, and after a moment, Éomund looked to Bernulf again and nodded.

Bernulf bowed and left the room silently.

Hrodwyn stood, and bowed respectfully to the Marshal before stepping away from the bed and crossing to scrub her hands and wrists with the harsh soaps used to clean wounds and prevent the spread of infection. One by one the other healers and riders followed her example, bowing to the marshal before moving quietly to gather the unused supplies and return them to their proper place. The riders moved away as well and spoke amongst themselves in low tones.

Théodwyn remained at Éomund's side, pulling the blankets up to his shoulders to ensure that the worst of his wound was hidden before Eomer could see it. Only once the cloth was settled to her satisfaction did she take her husband's hand in hers again, clutching it tightly.

A few minutes passed before the creak of the door signaled that Bernulf had returned with Éomer. Théodwyn looked over at her son as he entered, and tried to reassure him with a small smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Bernulf bent to speak softly into Éomer's ear, and after a moment of hesitation, the boy walked slowly into the room, stopping next to the bed where Hrodwyn had been a few minutes before. As he looked down at his father he squared his shoulders, clearly trying to show that he was strong, but Théodwyn saw that he still had the eyes of a boy who was scared and confused by what was happening.

Éomund's eyes had opened at the creak of the door, and he turned his head slowly to look up at his son. He tried to move his right hand out from under the blankets. As the movement affected his shoulder he gave a low groan and closed his eyes.

Éomer quickly bent and moved the blanket himself, and took his father's hand in his.

Éomund smiled as best he could as his eyes opened again. "Éomer… You are becoming a fine... young man. One day… you will be a great rider."

"Thank you, father."

"Bernulf told you?"

Éomer gave a small nod, and looked across to his mother before looking at his father again.

Grimacing with the effort, and the pain it caused, Éomund shifted his hand until he gripped Éomer's forearm, and Éomer turned his own hand to return the gesture. "I am… proud of you, my son. Always… remember that."

"Father…"

When Éomund was racked by another spasm of pain Theodwyn reached up to smooth her hand across his brow and cheek, murmuring softly, "Oh, my love… my heart…"

Focused on her husband as she was, she never saw the fury that filled Éomer's eyes as he watched her.

Éomund collapsed back into the bed once more, his eyes closed, and Éomer gently released his arm, setting it down carefully on top of the blankets, and stepped back. Théodwyn stood and came to him, running her hand over his hair before pulling him into an embrace. He returned it, stiffly, after a moment of hesitation, but stepped back far more quickly than his mother would have liked. She put her hands on his arms and tried again to give him a reassuring smile. "Go stand with the men now, Éomer. We… we will talk… later..."

He nodded mutely without looking at her and walked slowly to join the riders. The youngest of them reached out to put his unbandaged hand on Éomer's shoulder, and they all turned to face the bed where their marshal lay. The healers also stopped all they were doing and stood where they could bear witness but not interfere with what was to come. Théodwyn returned to her place on the right side of the bed

Bernulf came to stand at Éomund's left side, and carefully folded the blankets down so that Éomund's chest was exposed.

Théodwyn refused to look at him, and kept her eyes on Éomund's as she leaned forward to press her lips to his in a long kiss. When she sat back again, she caressed his cheek lightly. He opened his eyes and gave her a small smile, and tightened his fingers about hers as much as he could. "Tell Éowyn…"

She nodded quickly and returned the smile. "I will. She will know that you loved her."

He gave a small nod, closing his eyes for a moment as he struggled to draw breath. "I love you… Théodwyn. My princess..."

Giving a small laugh that turned into a sob, she kissed his hand, which she again held in both of hers. "And I love you, my lord and husband." Her voice broke as she said it, but he gave a huff of breath that might have been a laugh as she pressed another firm kiss on his fingers. "I will always love you, Éomund. You and no other."

He started to speak but was gripped by another spasm, longer and harder than the others had been. When it passed he breath came in shallow pants.

Several long moments passed, but at last Éomund opened his eyes to mere slits, looked to Bernulf. He did not speak. He did not need to.

Théodwyn tried to smile at her husband and clung tightly to his hand as Bernulf leaned over the bed and took great care in the placement of the dagger, to the left of the center of Éomund's chest, and in the angle at which he held it. In one swift motion, he brought the heel of his right hand down on the pommel, driving the blade cleanly between ribs and under the breastbone, and into the heart.

Éomund gave a low gasp, followed by several hard shudders, and then lay still.

Théodwyn lowered her head to his shoulder and wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the ladies of the Garden for their feedback and support, and to the-mighty-pen325 for beta reading. Any grammatical mistakes remaining are my own. The idea for the Eorlingas granting a rider a clean death came from Thanwen's wonderful story "Through Shadows," (which I highly recommend you read if you haven't already) and is used with her permission.
> 
> As a note, I am aware that this type of death is not nearly as quick and clean as it's made out to be here. Quick yes, clean not so much. It was suggested to me that I have the healers give him a lethal dose of poppy (morphine), but from my research I didn't believe that his body would absorb it at this stage of septic shock. So please indulge me in the romantic notion that a knife to the heart would be considered a clean death, even if the reality might be a wholly different story.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the ladies of the garden for all their help and comments on this story, and to the-mighty-pen325 for her feedback. It started as a drabble, written during NaNoWriMo, and then turned into a chapter, and now it has at least four chapters in the works.


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